Fate and Destiny
by Sylver Shadows
Summary: Destiny said Eragon was to leave the land forever. But what if his Destiny lay within the borders of Alagaësia. Major Inheritence Spoilers. ExA
1. Prologue

Beginning will not be related to the world of The Inheritance Cycle at all, but it's a necessary introduction.

This will have major spoilers of Inheritance, you've been warned.

This story will contain some swearing but I will attempt to contain myself, you've been warned.

Sylver can be slightly sadistic at some times, you've been warned.

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><p><strong>Prologue: My Name<strong>

The world was dark to Sylver Shadows as he felt his mind being torn at its seems. His thoughts were filled with hundreds of memories, but his mind was dominated by four thoughts. Each thought clung to his brain and asked for every scrap of energy it could provide but yet none could take full hold of his thoughts and he failed to focus on any single idea.

Sylver's mind raced as his head ached and he reverted to going through facts. The most obvious was his name: Sylver Shadows. He had silver hair, a result of a fight gone astray; his eyes were a startling dark shade of green. His mind fell upon his favorite color, a dark blue that he could not remember the name of. Soon he began to recreate himself.

Sylver's mind was suddenly filled with the sensations he knew to be fact. He could fell the soft grass under his being, clothed in simple black clothing covered in elegant silver armor adorned with gems. He could feel a bracer on his right wrist that hummed as if alive. As he tried to listen his mind was once again assaulted by his own thoughts and he went back to facts

Sylver's mind wandered to his birth, he was human, or he was. He contained abilities the nature of which eluded him at the moment. His only memory of these abilities was of flashes of colors, every color known to the eye and even some not. His family was nonexistent as if he was never born, but yet he remembered aging for a time. As soon as his mind began to wander into his teen years the memories became jumbled and suddenly Sylver found himself yet again trying to remember who he really was.

Sylver Shadows was now anything but human. He may have once been considered such but no longer. Not with the physical changes he had gone through and most definitely not with the mental changes. He had renounced his humanity, the exact reason he could not remember, and gained a great power and curse. This curse also eluded him.

Sylver felt the ruffled of feathers against his back and suddenly his mind cleared. He was Sylver Shadows, a descendant of a long dead organization and race. He was Sylver Shadows, harbinger of death, peace, love, life, and war. He was Sylver Shadows, the last remaining member of The Archangels. He was Sylver Shadows and he could not remember any more.

Sylver's mind was finally clear and he opened his eyes to be met with the sight of a starry sky. The sky looked so different, but Sylver could not comprehend why. The stars looked out of place, but he attributed it to the amnesia.

Sylver placed one hand to the ground pushed himself up, and once he was standing he checked that all his armor and clothing was in place. He then felt his left hip for his sword, Ripple. When his fingers fell upon its hilt he felt at ease. Nothing comforted him more than the fell of the sword.

"Who's there," Yelled a voice. Sylver turned in a circle but saw no one. Slowly he scanned the area more cautiously this time until his eyes fell upon a boy of no more than eight years. He was dressed in a mismatch of clothing and he held a small rusted dagger in hand.

"I could ask the same," Yelled Sylver back. The sound of his own voice startled him, it sounded somewhat older than he remembered.

"I'll be asking the questions," Yelled another voice, this one much older and familiar to Sylver. He didn't know how but he knew this voice.

"Who are you, you sound familiar," Yelled Sylver placing one hand on his left shoulder where he had a second blade.

"Don't do anything stupid," Whispered the voice in his ear as Sylver felt cold metal touch his back, or wings.

"I wasn't planning on it," Sylver responded before unfurling his black wings in a display of power, whoever was behind was sent sprawling and Sylver leapt high in the air before flying towards the horizon. His inner compass compelled him towards the north.

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><p>I'd ask you to review but nothing has really been written yet. Expect a full chapter by the end of the week at the latest<p> 


	2. Chapter 1 And Chapter 2

**Thank you to the people who commented: **

**InheritanceManiac: I'll work on my punctuation. I've always been told that though, I do break some rules on purpose. You usually have to read it how I write it. About the Archangels, All in good time. **

**booklover1209: The original idea for Sylver did come from Maximum Ride but I haver wrote whole stories about him so that he has become detached from the series, but yes the original idea was from Maximum Ride.**

**I write this portion after looking back on the chapter that follows. I have two things to say:**

**1. May seem irrelevant still but it will be worthwhile**

**2. I do not own The Inheritance Cycle. That privilege goes to Christopher Paolini**

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><p>Chapter 1 – The Snow Lined Peaks<p>

Snow was not uncommon in the north but this was no ordinary snow. It fell with a swiftness unfathomable and nonreplicable by means other than magic. Its pristine quality was unmatched by any beauty. The snow settled on the rocks and grass untouched by the petty struggles to the south. It all was serene to Murtagh's eye. The beauty was intoxicating.

In his self exile Murtagh had not expected to be met with such beautiful scenes this far north where the only laws were those of nature. Even in the most hospitable place Murtagh found life. It served as a fantastic example that no matter how tough or inhospitable a place, life goes on. Murtagh couldn't help but smile when he thought of these things. It had been nearly a month and his mind was wandering to his friends to the south.

_I doubt they worry as much about you as you do for them_ added Thorn as he weaved his way through the peaks of mountains which would be considered hills in comparison to The Beors.

_I'd rather have it that way. They deserve happy lives away from the sorrows and worries I must face. _Murtagh responded. He often wondered what had become of Eragon. Eragon must've found a suitable place to raise the dragons now. Murtagh's thoughts were often drawn to what his life would've been like if he had gone with Eragon. Murtagh knew that Eragon would welcome him, but few else would. Even Saphira seemed to resent him. It seemed to him that the longer living the race, the harder it was for them to forget their grudges. Murtagh did not resent them for it, for he had done things even he hated. It would take years before he felt he could ever forgive himself, but years he had.

_I worry about this snow; it seems to be turning into a blizzard. Soon I will not be able to navigate these peaks. _Thorn warned Murtagh. Murtagh had been having similar thoughts himself, but the land bellow was to treacherous to just land anywhere one pleased. AS Murtagh scanned the area his eyes fell upon a small amount of smoke.

_What do you think the smoke is from _Murtagh asked.

_You do not think we would be the only ones out here? _Thorn responded.

_I didn't expect to find many people. Maybe they will be kind enough to shelter us._

_Yes, or maybe they will see me and attack us with all they have._

_You expect us to avoid people altogether? Land near the smoke, and from there we will proceed on foot _

All though the action of landing would seem easy it proved to be anything but. The snow and wind caused snow drifts to fly around at whim, and the ground was visible one second and not so the next. This led to a rather rough landing leaving Thorn bruised and battered, and Murtagh disgruntled. After the landing Murtagh quickly eased the pain of some of Thorn's minor wounds easily before walking alongside him towards the smoke.

The blizzard made it quite difficult to see more than ten feet in front of Murtagh. Murtagh often struggled to find the smoke and found that he was never any closer to it than the last time he saw it, so, out of frustraition, Murtagh let out a curse and cast out his mind towards the smoke which couldn't have been more than five hundred meters away. What he felt shocked him. Instead of finding the minds of living beings, no matter how small, Murtagh found nothing. Not a breath of life dotted the area of the valley surrounding the smoke.

_Tread carefully Thorn. I sense no life ahead, _Murtagh informed Thorn. Thorns only response was to let out a puff of smoke before once again continuing their march. To Murtagh, the smoke still seemed distant. No matter how far they walked the smoke stayed at a similar distance to Murtagh.

_Have we been caught in some kind of illusion? I feel neither hot nor cold, and the smoke hasn't moved an inch, _Murtagh spoke.

_Anything is possible, _was the only response given by Thorn who was now quite irritated.

In an attempt to see if this was somebody's cruel trick Murtagh cast a couple spells in rapid succession. None succeeded in providing him any knowledge outside what he knew. It perturbed him that they continued to walk towards the smoke and that the landscape did not change, yet the world at their feet was never the same.

_I see a cave in that mountain wall. It is getting late, _Thorn informed Murtagh who was dying to rest his feet. Without even responding Murtagh changed directions towards the cave and suddenly the landscape changed. The mountains fell back as if they had never existed and suddenly there was no blizzard, but a thick lining of snow which was much higher than Murtagh remembered a second ago.

As Murtagh cast his mind out, he was met with the response of the thoughts and feelings of small animals but nothing representing a sentient being. In a test of this new found revelation Murtagh cast his eyes back to the smoke and began walking in it's direction again. In minutes he found himself in the same setting as before with a blizzard raging on around him. As he focused on something other than the smoke the world began to warp again until the blizzard disappeared and Murtagh turned around to see Thorn resting in the cave nearly a hundred meters behind him.

As Murtagh walked back to the cave he communicated his findings with Thorn. Murtagh believed that when one focused on the smoke they were put in a trance like state. How that could happen he could not explain but Murtagh was grateful to lie down inside the cave. He had walked for what felt like hours, yet if he had paid attention to the sun he would've noticed it made nearly no movement in the sky.

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><p><strong>Decided to put two chapters in one post.<strong>

**Warning: Following chapter is slightly sadistic. Although it does provide to the plot it is not entirely important. After the part about Aelia you can skip the rest if you wish, for it matters less than the part about Aelia.**

Chapter 2 – The Wanderer

Gyden Caro was not fond of the nightshift. It brought all kinds of colorful people past his outpost that Gyden would rather not have interacted with. Although Gyden was going on forty he looked nearly twenty years older. His hair the color of sheep wool, and his eyes a crisp blue color. He wore the attire of all of The Varden's soldiers.

From birth Gyden had been warned to distrust spell casters. His mother had called them "gifted abominations." She often would tell the story of how his father took down ten spell casters by himself. Gyden knew better, for he had heard the true story from a friend do his father after his father died in the invasion of Urû'baen. His friend had said that Gyden's father would've died facing the spell casters if not for the assistance of a man not of The Varden who forced his will upon all ten of the spell casters at once.

After hearing the story Gyden knew that he could never trust spell casters, no matter where their allegiance lay. He did not resent The Dragon Riders, but knew he was powerless against those with the ability to use magic. He had often tried himself to do so and only ended with a massive migraine.

So when Gyden was given the night watch at an outpost just north of Dras-Leona he dreaded it, for his mother had told him that all these abominations walked in the night practicing their dark magics and stealing the souls of all they saw. On his first day Gyden reported for duty and met Aelia, the girl who would be assisting him in his guard duties. She was three years his younger, she was nineteen, with short blonde hair and vibrant blue eyes. At first they had gotten along well. Gyden would weave these marvelous tales of battles he had fought, seen, or heard of and she would respond with laughter, disbelief or a mixture of both.

Then on their fifth night stationed together a man had come along. He had walked up to the outpost asking for directions to Urû'baen, now renamed Ilirea. Gyden had been glad to give them to him. The man made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He couldn't describe why but he just didn't like this guy. When Aelia had inquired about his reason for going Ilirea the man got stiff suddenly. In seconds he was laying the ground dead from a mental attack on Aelia's part. Aelia fled that day and hasn't been seen since. She is charged with murder and there's a large bounty on her head.

It was nearly two weeks since the incident now and Gyden was now stationed by himself while The Varden tried to find a soldier who could assist him in his duties. Gyden was tired when he saw someone coming down the road. This person was wearing a dark cloak, the nature of which was only worn by those who had something to hide, and their face was obscured by a hood.

The person walked up to the outpost without saying a word. Gyden just went about his business not saying a word until it became too much and he blurted out, "Do you need something or are you just enjoying the view."

"What is the city to the south," Responded the man, which was obvious by the deep and malevolent tone in his voice which sent shivers down Gyden's spine. Why anyone would not know what "the city to the south was" was beyond Gyden. He just stared dumbstruck.

"Dras-Leona," Gyden responded and he swore that he caught glimpse of a large gash across the right cheek of the man, or Gyden would've sworn if he'd had the time.

In seconds the man had bombarded Gyden's mind. The man dominated him and began to have Gyden draw his own sword. Gyden attempt to stop himself but could do nothing but watch, for the man would not allow him to scream, as he plunged the sword into his own left thigh and pushed it until the hilt touched the skin. In a flourish of the man's hand another sword appeared in Gyden's sheathe. Once again the man repeated the excruciatingly painful process, at least for Gyden, of pluning the blade in the right thigh.

After creating another sword, the man had Gyden slowly push this one through where he ought his stomach was. The man just smiled, leaned in close to the Gyden and spoke a few words Gyden could not understand. Suddenly Gyden felt his throat constrict. As the man's presence left Gyden's mind Gyden tried to scream but when he opened his mouth nothing came out.

The man was not finished though. He had not had such a good time in a long time, and although the man knew it was wrong, he drew his own blade. The sword it's self was pitch black, the hilt made for his hand. He then brought the blade down in a large arc, severing Gyden's Left arm from his body. No blood flowed though.

The man, satisfied, sheathed his sword and began to walk toward Dras-Leona. The next watch would find Gyden dying and unable to speak. After hundreds of tries, no magician could do anything for Gyden. He would suffer a life without being able to speak and with only one arm. No one could find any evidence of who had done it. Maybe if they'd looked closer they would've seen the strands of peculiarly silver hair.

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><p><strong> Gyden is supposed to sound completely ignorant.<strong>

**Review Please**


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